


Hand of Sorrow

by PlayingChello



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ace!Levi, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Branding, M/M, Side YumiKuri, Supernatural Elements, Torture, gray ace!Eren, side anireibert, side ereri, side jearmin, some gore, some violence, tags will be updated as necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He is thirty-five</i>
</p><p><i>He is thirty-four</i><br/> </p><p>And his life is about to change forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I've been sort of teasing this for a few days on Twitter and a bit less on Tumblr. But it's finally here! My massive multichapter EruMike project! This already has a shit ton of random useless information behind it, so if you have questions, I will try to answer them best I can (provided it's not spoilers). ALSO, I'm posting this as I write, so mu update schedule is at the whim of my muse, so I have no ungodly idea when I will update. But hopefully I'll never leave it too terribly long between chapters.
> 
> Big thank you to [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) for screaming with me about this and being my last second beta for this prologue.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).

_He was seven._

The first time he saw a member of the Royal Guard up close, dressed in their shiny armour with a sword at their hip. His father told him that that was someone who was protecting the realm by protecting the crown and the people who wear it. At seven, he spent most of his time bored in classes about manners and etiquette or playing with Marie, his betrothed. But the moment he saw that person of the Royal Guard, he knew what he wanted to do with his life.

_He was ten._

When he told his father that he wanted to join the Guard and leave behind his status and betrothal. He wanted to serve the king, the kingdom, and the people of Sina. His father was apprehensive, but proud. Always there to support him for anything he chose to do.

_He was twelve._

When he left home, left Marie, left his life for training for the Royal Guard. All of his dreams and aspirations since he was seven culminated in that moment, the moment he was going to help. He was going to protect his people and his king. He didn’t care that the training process would be three long, grueling years of intense physical and mental strain. This was what he wanted.

_He was thirteen._

When it happened. Something changed in him. The training nearly broke him several times over, nearly sent him home with the scores of other _children_ that left daily, no longer convinced they were cut out for the job. He watched them leave and every time it gave him the push he needed to stay. But that day in mid fall, the day of his thirteenth birthday, that was the closest he ever came to leaving. He could barely get out of bed all day, so wracked with pain. It wasn’t soreness from training and it wasn’t from a scuffle with another trainee. This was something else, something more sinister. It squeezed at his head, putting it in a vice grip. It made him feel like all of his bones were breaking at once then healing again only to be broken again and again.

A few days later, someone from the castle came into the barracks to talk to the instructor. When Shadis called him into his office, he was terrified. The man from the castle looked him up and down with a cold countenance, then asked him to recount everything that had happened on his birthday, demanded every detail of the pain and any insignificant action that had happened, down to when he pissed.

The man left with a little smirk and whispered words to Shadis. He went back to training.

_He was fifteen._

The day he stood up in front of the city with four other people for the graduation ceremony. He swore his fealty, his life, his love, everything he was, to the kingdom and the king. The day they gave him his Royal Guard collar of ink around his neck, an intricate pattern of sharp black lines encircling the back of his neck and coming almost to a complete circle on either side of the dip of his collarbones. The day they also gave him his royal crest on his wrist, a green unicorn arching its neck proudly, with a circle of thorns wrapping around his wrist along with it. The day they pierced a single hole in his right ear and punched a silver hoop through it, symbolising his entry level rank in the Royal Guard.

He was also fifteen when it all fell down around him. When the king he so loved was murdered in the street by a tiny bolt shot from a crossbow too far away for the Guard to do anything about. The day the hunts for the little assassin started in full. With no heirs left behind, it was the day the king’s brother took over the throne. A slimy man that no one had any particular love for. But he had made an oath, one that could not be broken, one that is held more sacred than marriage.

_He was seventeen._

When he held council with the new king, and was given a task. When he saw his old training instructor for the first time since his graduation. When he was told that the excruciating pain he experienced on his thirteenth birthday was a realisation. His body coming into a power. A power to amplify sensations beyond the pain threshold so far it could instantly kill. A power the Guard very much wanted to harness and train, refine until he could use it at a moment’s notice on command.

He didn’t know what the power meant. But he knew he hated it. He never wanted to hurt people. He wanted to protect them. He only wanted to serve his kingdom and keep it safe, but under the rule of the tyrant king, no one was safe, and he was only a tool. He had no choice, he would be trained to learn to control this power he has.

_He was twenty-one._

The first time he killed with his power.

He watched the man, a traitor, already marked with the jagged black line across his face of the vilest of criminal, seize up as he focused his mind and sent an overwhelming wave of sensation into him. Watched as he convulsed and foam dribbled from his lips as the pain overtook any other sense. Felt, through the connection he had to make through his mind, the way his heart picked up beating, then slowed until it just stopped and the man slumped over with a horrific mask of death.

_He was twenty-two._

The next time he saw his betrothed, Marie, grasping at the arm of her husband, his best friend. Nile smiled at him and congratulated him on his success in the Royal Guard. Gives him an appraising pat on the back when he notices the three silver rings in his right ear and the two gold studs in his left, a Captain so young with two squads to his command. He doesn’t tell Nile that it’s only because he’s a puppet. Doesn’t tell him he holds a grim secret that ends lives at the whim of a tyrant. He definitely doesn’t tell Marie. Not even when they tell him his father had died.

He had no more friends. They were all afraid or ignorant.

_He was twenty-five._

When he went on his first assassination mission. One of the “purges” mandated by the king’s new laws. He had no illusions though, they were executions. Meaningless death he was forced to participate in. But he made a vow, an oath. And he would not turn his back on that. He wore his Royal Guard tattoos with pride.

The mission led to the deaths of four people. Two men and two women, who looked to just be trying to survive. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Not by his account anyway. But still, when the group of Guard soldiers he was with had trouble with the last woman, he didn’t even blink when he connected to her mind, saw a flash of the others laying dead around her there, before ending her life as quickly as possible.

_He was twenty-eight._

With so many deaths and so much blood on his hands that it was trivial now. He was honour-bound and duty-bound. A tool of the king to use as he pleases. And used he was. Even when he was told to kill people little more than _children_. He had no choice in the matter. It was obey, or be marked as treason and face death. He doesn’t remember most of them, a group of six this time. He remembers four were men, one was a woman, and one barely a teenager. That’s the one he remembers. She was so defiant, so full of life. And he took that from her. Without any remorse. Because he’d learned years before that remorse just left him tired and broken at the end of the day, and he couldn’t afford that.

_He was thirty._

When the kingdom started experiencing attacks from an unknown group. There were rumours that there was one, or maybe three, or maybe even an entire legion of people behind the attacks. Sometimes he heard they were marked as traitors, and other times clear faced. There were no solid descriptions, no concrete evidence, only rumours and the occasional dead soldier. No one knew who they were. But there was always one thing, one consistent detail. They wore a tattoo of overlapping wings, one white and one blue, on their backs. A huge ‘fuck you’ to the societal norms and the faction distinctive tattoos.

_He was thirty-three._

When the assassinations started. All of the highest ranking nobles began dying mysteriously from crossbow bolts to the back of the neck. The same bolts, it was discovered, as those that had killed the old king so many years ago. There was even less information about the assassins than the rebel group, which the Guard had taken to calling the Flightless Birds. No number, no description, no earthly idea as to who it was.

_He’s thirty-five._

And his life is about to change forever.

\-----------------------------------

_He was ten._

Just a boy living in the kingdom without understanding much of what was happening in the world. He had his friends, young boys and girls from around town that he played with. He didn’t have much to worry about, not much to occupy his child’s mind beyond when his mother would call him in for supper. Until she got sick.

_He was twelve._

The man of the house. Trying to provide for his family in any way he could. Going off to train to try to enter the Royal Guard. Or at least the army, the pretty rose tattoos up their arms would look nice, he thought. And either one was sure to net him an income, something to help support his sick mother, barely getting by from day to day.

It was the year he saw the boy, fair haired with piercing blue eyes, focused only on his training. He smelled like leather and hope and niavety. It was the year he woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of suppressed moans of pain coming from him. It was the year his mother died.

He didn’t return to training after that.

_He was fourteen._

When the king fell to a bolt in the street. He doesn’t think it was an accident or even a coincidence. There was planning behind that attack. The new king, the brother of the old, was a vile man with hatred and evil in his heart. He threatened the land and issued new laws to uproot the lives of the people living in the kingdom.

_He was fifteen._

When he was marked as a traitor for something he didn’t do and took to the underground city with Nanaba, Gelgar, Lynne, and Henning. He was an outcast of the city, the thick jagged line marking him from inner corner of his right eyes down to the hollow of his left cheek. The ink burned, but he had a family to provide for. He cared for them, children as much as he was, but still, they survived. They lived on borrowed time and stolen food. But they survived.

_He was twenty._

When Nanaba kissed him. He didn’t feel anything particularly special, no more special that the familial bond they’d always shared. Still, he let her kiss him. Let her hold him. And let himself return the insignificant affection. He may not have _loved_ her, but he still loved her. And at the time, that was enough.

_He was twenty-four._

They left to find food while he stayed behind to guard their little outcropping where they made camp at night. When all four of them didn’t come back after several hours, he went out looking for them. It didn’t matter if their camp was stolen, their stores rifled through, if only they were safe.

He found them in the street. Everyone else was too scared, too sick, too poor to care about the bodies laying out for anyone to see. Gelgar, Lynne, and Henning had wounds with blood congealed around them. Gelgar’s through his heart and Lynne across her neck, and Henning with his abdomen open and guts littered on the dirt. But it was Nanaba that drew his attention. She had not a scratch on her and was farther away from the rest, a fighter until the very end.

It took him all night to bury their bodies.

Hanji found him a few days later.

_He was twenty-seven._

The man was lashing out at anyone who dared look his way, trying to kill anything that so much as spared him a glance. He was broken and torn apart and Hanji told him that was a man they needed. Their little duo needed to recruit if they ever meant to make a difference. And the small man with the sharp eyes and raven hair was exactly the kind of person they needed.

He approached him with a strong stance and no room for fear. After the first few attempts at slicing open his throat, the little man gave up and listened to his story. When he described how he found Nanaba, the small man let out a choked sob before collapsing at his feet. He offered him a place to go, a home and friendship, a place where they are working toward changing the world. All he asked for was a name.

“Levi.”

_He was twenty-nine._

When the group started getting a following. New recruits started filtering in. A man with scraggly dark hair and vibrantly green eyes and a pretty Asian woman with deceptive strength, Eren and Mikasa. Hanji found them after their parents had been targeted. Another man with long blond hair and blue eyes that looked too familiar but didn’t smell right followed shortly after them, having lost his family to the harsh rule as well, Armin. A cocky man with sharp eyes found them with a bright eyed brunet covered in freckles, after having given up training for the Royal Guard and finding themselves homeless for too long, Jean and Marco. Jean had a connection to a kitchen girl in the castle, and that got them connections there through the kitchen girl, a servant boy, and a low bred noble, Sasha, Connie, and Krista.

With so many willing participants, they began launching their attacks, brandishing their back tattoos as their calling card, the Wings of Freedom would not stand for the oppression.

_He was thirty-two._

They lost Marco. A single crossbow bolt to the back of the neck. All they managed to see was a flash of blonde hair tied up in a bun on a short statured girl before she was gone. Jean cried for him for days, refused help from anyone else when he burned his body. The only person that could get near him after that was Armin. The rest of them gave him his space.

Levi helped him organise their efforts. Hanji helped build them weapons and strategies. He had lost his family twice already, he’d be damned if he lost them again.

_He was thirty-three._

And he watched Levi and Eren stumble into each other. Watched Jean find solace in Armin. Watched Mikasa fall in love with the fight. Watched Hanji love her experiments. He wouldn’t say he was jealous, but maybe a touch envious. Just of the closeness. But he still had them as family. And that was all that mattered.

_He is thirty-four._

And his life is about to change forever.


	2. Dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after a VERY full weekend, I finally got around to editing this chapter so I could get it out to you! A lot of this chapter might be boring because not a ton happens, but trust me that it's important. ANYWHO, enjoy.
> 
> Thanks to [Renee](http://randompinkbunny9.tumblr.com) and [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) for reading through this and keeping me sane.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).

It’s the same every morning.

He wakes up long before first call, and by the way the moonlight still filters in through the open window, it’s at least an hour today. The first few times it had happened, years and years ago, he thought it was guilt. It might have been, at the time. The first year or so after he started killing. But now it’s just something that happens. He doesn’t feel guilt when he kills, doesn’t lose sleep over his sizable body count. He serves his purpose and that’s all that matters. He can justify anything, any of the horrible things he does, because he’s honour bound, swore an oath. He exists to serve and protect the King.

He rolls over onto his back slowly and a shaft of moonlight slants across his eye, making him blink heavily. He supposes he should use the time to write some of the reports that have been piling up. His heavy sigh is the only sound in the stillness of the early morning and he swings his legs over the side of the small bed and runs his hand through his blond hair, edge of his palm brushing the rings in his right ear, six to signify his commandership. Erwin Smith, Commander of the Royal Guard for the last five years.

The washroom is just a tiny room off to one corner of the bedroom. Erwin doesn’t bother looking into the mirror as he dresses himself in his livery. All neutral colours and drab unoriginality. He used to look at the Royal Guard uniform with wonder, a sparkle in his eyes. But now he just looks dead. Empty. His blue eyes icy and cold with the knowledge of what he’s used for. The last thing he does before turning to leave the room is tighten his bolo tie, with it’s bright turquoise stone, around his neck. His fingers linger just a second too long on the leather.

With the early hour, he’s not expecting to meet anyone as he walks the short distance from his bedroom to his office. The stone halls of the castle are barren and his footsteps echo on the walls. It might be creepy if he wasn’t so accustomed to the sound already.

As expected, he meets no one in the halls. Erwin’s office is not large or opulent. Just a small room with a desk and a small couch for visitors. But it’s comfortable, and more like home than any other place he’s ever been since he was a kid. Even with the stacks of papers for the cost reports and ration directives. With a sigh and a rub at his eyes, he sits down at the desk and begins working.

A knock on the door more than an hour later brings him out of the bubble of concentration he’d lost himself in. “Come in.” The door inches open slowly and a boy of about twenty-five or so, Marlow, comes in. The kid (they’re all children, and this one has been here ten years) stands stiffly at attention, waiting for permission to speak. “What do you need?”

“Commander Smith, sir. I’ve been sent to tell you there’s an officers’ meeting in half an hour in the meeting chamber.” Everything from the way he holds himself to the way he speaks is stiff and proud, like he wants to do everything exactly right.

“Thank you, I’ll be along shortly. It’s about meal time, is it not?”

For a fraction of a second, Marlow’s composure breaks, but it’s back as quickly as it left, “Sir?”

“The morning meal, you should join the other soldiers to break fast. You are dismissed.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. Then he offers up a salute, right fist over his heart, and turns to stride out of the office. Erwin watches him go, calculating gaze following his sure steps, carefully constructed for the best soldier’s posture. Marlow is one of the better soldiers among the younger recruits, dedicated and passionate about his duty, much like Erwin himself.

He rids the thoughts with a shake of his head. No one is like him. He harbours a terrible secret. His squads don’t respect him—they fear him. If they know. If they don’t, then their respect isn’t earned, just expected of them. He hates it.

The words on the page below him swim a moment as one of his headaches comes on. He won’t be able to get anymore work done like this so he might as well head down to the meeting chamber. The other officers won’t be there yet, but he doesn't have anything better to do and he’s not hungry.

His headache pounds at the crown of his head, but it’s nothing he isn’t accustomed to. It happens, every so often. Especially if he hasn’t been _used_ in a while. And it’s been several days. _Days_. That’s all it takes anymore. A few days without killing someone and his head feels like it’s being fed through a press, radiating pain all through his body. It occupies his thoughts as he makes his way through the drab halls, dotted occasionally with soldiers and servants, and sometimes even a noble.

The meeting chamber is opulent and grandiose, resultant of the King’s “renovations” after his rise to power. It’s really just a power play, a show that he controls the wealth of the kingdom in addition to everything else around them. Little, or big, things like that are all over. The soldiers’ barracks, the servants’ quarters, they are all drab and simple and alike. No individuality. But anywhere the king inhabits- that’s where the beauty, the wealth, anything he can get to in order to show himself off. _Peacocking_ , Erwin muses.

“Ah, Commander, you’re early. I trust the soldier I sent found you in good health?”

“Very well, General,” Erwin replies to the man curtly. No point in telling the truth, it’s written on his face with the way he winces with every step. If General Zackly actually cares, he doesn’t say so.

The General is not a tall man, like Erwin himself, but he’s still quite imposing. He’s a stocky man, older with a full beard of grey hair. He wears a pair of rimless glasses that seem too small for his face but, combined with the permanent furrow in his brow, give him an aura of seriousness that no one would dare question. He’s not known as a nice man, but nor is he regarded as a poor leader or an evil man. More like he’s a stern face fit for commanding over the armed forces of the kingdom.

Both men stand silent at either end of the long meeting table in the center of the room. There’re still another fifteen minutes before the meeting is set to begin, but other officers should begin trickling into the chamber any time. Feeling awkward, standing taller than his commanding officer even across the room, Erwin takes a seat to one side of the head of the table to wait for the rest of the officers.

He doesn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later all of the commanding officers under him as well as the commanding officers from the army slowly start filing in and taking their seats. At exactly the turn of the hour, Zackly clears his throat loudly. Any conversation in the room silences immediately.

“Good morning.” Zackly begins in his deep, commanding tone. “Good to see that everyone is here. We’ll start with the cost reports.”

Erwin pays only cursory attention to most of the proceedings, only answering direct questions and not caring much about cost reports and budget reviews, the inner workings of the army or the minor reports filed by his officers. Unless it directly concerns him, he just can’t find the energy to care. Especially not with the way the headache is still assaulting all of his senses, now feeling like a thousand pins constantly poking at his brain.

“And that should do it for today. Officers are dismissed. Erwin, Dot, we’ve got a few more things to discuss.”

Muted whispers and chairs scraping against the marble floor ring through the room as most of its occupants get up to take their leave. No one lingers. No one wants to. There isn’t a single person in the room that actually wants to be there, they’re just required meetings to attend so everyone is on the same page. Or at least has the exact information that the King wants them to have.

When the room is clear, Dot Pixis, a jovial man much older than Erwin with a bald head and full mustache, and Erwin both move to sit closer to where General Zackly is still seated. He doesn’t speak until they’ve all sat in silence for just longer than is comfortable. “The King has ordered another cleaning mission.”

_Cleaning mission_. That’s what they’ve started calling them to “soften the task.” They’re executions. Erwin has no illusions to that. He knows what it means. He just hopes this one’ll be easy. Maybe he won’t be needed.

“There are rebels hiding in the underground. Living in poverty and stealing food from tax paying citizens. There’s one in particular that the king would like taken care of, a former associate to some of those dealt with in the past by you, Erwin. We don’t have a name, but he’s marked. Reports say he is short of stature and has black hair. He’s fast, so you should go for backup, Erwin. Dot, if you have any trusted soldiers you’d like to donate to the mission, it would be much appreciated.”

Erwin bites back a sigh and schools his expression. He didn’t want to have to go. He didn’t want to be involved again. There have only been two occasions in which he went on a mission and wasn’t required for his… skills. In all likelihood, he would have to kill again.

“When?”

“Today, if you can be ready. The target is constantly mobile. But he’s been holed up in one of the abandoned hovels for the last few days and there’s no telling when he’ll be on the move again. The sooner he’s taken care of the better. He’s been seen with others, marked and not, and any additional casualties are… not undeserved.”

That’s just their way of saying kill as many of them as he can. Erwin keeps his face straight, stares straight ahead, and nods. General Zackly watches him carefully, then addresses Pixis about some army issue before dismissing them both. Erwin walks back to his office to prepare for the mission. They’d decided to set it for later that afternoon, so he has a little time to finish some of his paperwork and round up his squad. Maybe he’d have that Marlow guy join him, he seemed eager.

\--

Erwin stands at the street leading into the slums of The Underground with a squad of six soldiers behind him. He did end up requesting Marlow join him. The kid was so excited to be asked to come on such an important mission, Erwin felt somewhat bad that he’d be responsible for the poor boy’s loss of innocence. This mission would be an eye opening experience for him. Not in a good way.

The rest of the team are veterans on these sort of trips except for a girl, around the same age as Marlow. She’s got a quick tongue and a way about her that seems to irritate other people, but it’s somewhat endearing to Erwin. She’s constantly finding some way to laugh, even if it’s at the weirdest things, or at the expense of someone else. Usually Marlow. She’s made for these types of missions, she’ll be alright.

The plan of attack is to attempt to use stealth to get close to the target, but Erwin knows how unlikely that is to work. The target and any associates are likely to be extraordinarily familiar with the winding layout of the slums, while Erwin’s team is decidedly _not_.

“This place is disgusting, is your mother from here, Marlow?” Hitch cackles from somewhere behind him. He allows himself a private upturn of his lips to himself before he straightens himself.

“Time to move out.”

They stick to alleys, but seven people wearing Royal Guard uniforms isn’t exactly discreet. Especially here. But with hoods hiding their faces and covering the majority of their uniforms, they manage. They stop near the building where their target is supposed to be hiding.

The buildings in The Underground are less like homes or any kind of real protection, and more just crumbling apartments. The people that live around here claim whatever empty space they can find. Ownership doesn’t really exist, it’s more of a ‘grab whatever you can find’ kind of mentality. And that’s exactly what makes is so difficult to _hunt_ here. People live like vagabonds here, never staying in one place too long for fear of being stolen from, or worse.

Erwin leads his squad up through a nearby building to get a better view of the building they’re targeting. From this vantage point, they can just make out a couple of people through one of the windows. One of them is blond, so clearly not the primary target. The other has dark hair, but appears to be female, also not the primary target. Erwin moves through the building, checking windows for different angles until he can see more of the apartment.

Finally, he spots a smaller figure with dark hair that could easily fit the description of the target. He’s turned away, so he can’t see if he’s marked, but the rest of the description seems to fit. He motions to the squad to move in, pointing out the man they’re after. They split up and try to cover the entrances to the other building, attempting to surround the people in the makeshift home.

Erwin has to admit, despite his minor concerns as to Hitch’s proclivity for stealth, once they start closing in, she goes silent. In fact, she’s the only one he loses entirely once they enter the building, leaving no trace of her presence. The others he hears now and then, a scuffle of a boot on a protruding rock, the rustle of fabric against the walls, a heavy sigh that is just slightly too loud.

All he can hope is that their target and his friends are less perceptive than Erwin, but he knows that’s unlikely. He has an uneasy feeling in his chest the whole way through the building, getting closer to their destination a little too easily, with no sign of any of the people they had seen. Still, he’s on orders. There is no turning back.

Finally, he makes it to the entrance of a large room and tries to hide himself in the shadow of the doorway so he can peer in, throwing his hood back for better visibility. The room is largely empty, no furniture save several piles of threadbare blankets spread out in makeshift beds. There are four people in the room, not the three they had seen previously. In addition, there is a man with messy brown hair sleeping under a pile of the blankets. Unlikely to be a problem. It’s the primary target that is his real concern, but the woman looks like she could cause some problems as well.

He glances toward the other entrances of the room and spots his other squad members hiding in the shadows of doorways and windows. He doesn’t see Hitch until he looks up and finds her hanging precariously in the rafters, which look as if they could crumble at any moment. He catches all of their eyes, something soldiers who knew more about how he worked would never do, and nods.

And several things happen in the breadth of a few moments.

Their primary target turns his head just enough so that Erwin can see his face, see the mark across it, and more importantly can see the flash of _knowing_ in his eye.

The woman and man standing a small distance off from the target make subtle shifts in their stances, clearly prepared for a fight.

Erwin’s squad begins moving in, coming out from the shadows at his order.

And something makes the hair on the back of his neck stand. A breeze of warm air over his nape roots him to the spot, stops him from trying to assist his squad.

Something is _very_ wrong.

All Erwin can do, frozen to the spot with the good sense not to turn to try to see what’s behind him, is watch as his squad walks right into what appears to be a trap. The man that had been sleeping clearly hadn’t actually been sleeping. He gets up the moment Erwin’s people start moving in. Four of his soldiers walk straight into the room and are matched against the four people in the room. If only Erwin could catch _anyone’s_ eye, he could help. He just needs to make the connection.

But instead, he watches as four people he had led into this place are relieved of their lives. Cut short on his order, misguided and a second too soon. The rebels use whatever they have, small blades, rocks, their bare hands. But it all ends the same, in death.

The only two who manage to escape the massacre are Hitch, still hanging from the rafters, and Marlow, who Erwin hasn’t seen since he gave the order. With four bodies littering the floor, the rebels turn to face where Erwin is but still don’t make eye contact with him, and Hitch finally drops from the ceiling. She’s poised behind the rebels, but doesn’t look as if she plans to take the opportunity. And that’s probably the only thing that saves her when a fifth person comes up behind her, Marlow in hand. The new person has narrow eyes and sandy hair and must have a weapon to Marlow’s back to keep him compliant. He pulls a knife on Hitch, holding it to her throat, and she doesn’t even look surprised.

And _finally_ someone looks at him, looks him in the eye. It’s the man with the messy brown hair, and he has incredibly green eyes. Green, with a touch of something lighter, almost yellow-gold. Erwin clears his mind and suddenly the persistent headache is nothing and he reaches out with his mind to connect with the man’s.

And nothing happens.

Well, almost nothing. The man cocks his head at him with an oddly _adorable_ confused frown. Erwin’s headache comes back in more excruciating force than before. And then his vision goes dark as something is placed over his head and his arms are forced behind his back.

“Ye’d do well not ta struggle,” a gruff, heavily accented voice murmurs into his ear from somewhere behind him, to his left. And while he knows in his head the idiocy of actually attempting to struggle, his instincts reign out and he throws his left shoulder back as hard as he can, where it strikes a solid force. The voice behind him exhales sharply but doesn’t loosen his grip on him nor does he offer any chance for escape. “Told ye not ta struggle.”

“What do you want?” Erwin grits out, still squirming against the solid muscle of his captor.

“We’ll be askin’ the questions,” the voice growls. Erwin gives another valiant effort to get away, but he’s no match for the person holding him in place.

“Levi,” the voice calls, “A little help ‘ere?”

Erwin barely has time to wonder at who ‘Levi’ is before he feels a sharp pain at the back of his neck and then he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm well into writing the next chapter so it's possible it'll be a quick turnaround, just depends on how much I end up trying to fit into it.
> 
> Comments, kudos, ect. are always welcome!


	3. Stand My Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kept forgetting this in the previous postings, but the title of this is based off of [Hand of Sorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9kAD4FhJWM) by Within Temptation and is EXTREMELY relevant to the story. Please listen to it, I love Within Temptation, they're great. Also, all the chapter titles so far are song titles from them.
> 
> There might be a playlist in the works maybe if I can find more than three artists with relevant music (which is hard because I listen to one artist till I get sick of them which can last weeks sooooo) But, lemme know if that's interesting to you I guess?
> 
> Also, HUGE massive thank you to [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) for not only reading my shit _while I write it_ but also for tolerating my sending them sad songs I think fit Erwin and Mike in this tale. I've caused tears.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).

Jean takes care of the younger captives, figuring he may be able to convince them to turn sides. He knows the consequences for them if he can’t. Mike hopes it doesn’t come to that, but trusts Jean is capable. Especially since he saw Armin heading in that direction as well.

That leaves the leader for him and Levi.

Eren approaches them before they enter the room where they’ve left the captive. The subtle way he touches the small of Levi’s back doesn’t escape Mike’s notice and ever so slightly his face softens at the display. It’s especially important to maintain these little touches, tiny expressions, when hard times like the ambush they’d just survived are around every corner. He’s just glad Eren and Levi have one another to ground themselves in moments like this.

“There’s something weird about him,” Eren tells them with his eyes focused somewhere far away. It isn’t until Levi’s arm brushes his side that he seems to come back to the present.

“What d’ye mean?” Mike asks seriously, senses on even higher alert than usual.

“I made eye contact with him, only for a second, and his face changed and I felt… something, tickling at the back of my head. Right here,” he lifts a finger up and points to his crown.

Levi looks at him with concern, not bothering to hide it when it’s just the three of them, “If that bastard did something to you…”

“No, he didn’t. At least, I’m pretty sure he didn’t. He looked surprised when I didn’t react. I think he was _trying_ to do something, but couldn’t. But still, be careful?” He directs the last bit to Levi alone.

Levi scoffs at him but it’s softened by the way eyes look fondly up at Eren. “We’ll be fine, kid.”

“It’s time, Levi.”

Levi and Eren continue staring at each other, a silent reassurance, before Levi finally turns away, Eren’s touch on his back lingering until he’s too far away to reach. Mike can feel Eren’s eyes on them and turns just before he passes into the little room, “Eren, go tell Hanji what ye told us.” Eren nods and Mike shuts the door behind him.

Immediately, the stench of the air changes to something wretched and oppressive. Mike wrinkles his nose at it as he and Levi walk to the table against the wall to look at the _tools_ they have to use. Then they turn to their captive, still blinded by the burlap hood they put over his head.

Mike doesn’t condone torture. He doesn’t _like_ hurting people. And he’d prefer not to have to use any of the things Hanji had come up with, but it’s not every day such a high level officer walks into their hands. He could have valuable information, much more than any foot soldier or anything they can get from Connie and Sasha, or even Krista. And Mike knows it won’t be easy to get that information. Not from him.

Levi makes eye contact with Mike from where he’s standing on the other side of the captive, a silent question. Mike nods, then focuses on the man restrained in the chair.

“How ‘bout ye start with yer name and rank.”

The captive jumps at the sound of his voice and whips his head around, searching blindly for the source of the sound. The chair scrapes a bit over the floor as he strains against the bindings.

But still he does not speak.

Mike already knows who they have. It’s obvious by the tattoos of the Royal Guard and the number of rings he’d seen through his ear before he put the hood over his head. But he needs a gauge, needs to know exactly how difficult this will be. With the way Levi’s brow is furrowed in irritation and the captive’s continued refusal to answer, it’s going to be _very_ difficult.

“I’d appreciate very much if ye’d answer the question. Otherwise, we’ll have to start usin’ the suggestions from our friend to persuade ye.”

Silence.

Not even the sound of struggle and it’s a thick fog laying heavy over the room. Even with the hood covering his face, Mike can almost see the way the man stares straight ahead at nothing, unmoving. His fists are clenched where they’re tied behind the chair back resolutely. This one will be tough.

Mike’s slow, deliberate steps echo in the small room as he walks up behind the chair. He motions to Levi to move around to the front then leans down over the man’s shoulder.

And something makes him stop.

He freezes with the scent assaulting his senses. It’s always been a thing for him—scent. It’s how he sees the world, through the impression of smell. And he never forgets a scent.

He remembers this one.

His mind is suddenly thrown back to a better time. A time of hard training, of practice sparring and arrogant children. Of a boy writhing in pain in his bunk all night.

He thought he’d blocked out his very short time training for the King’s military. Before his mother died, before the new King came to power, before he was marked, before Nanaba…

A touch on his shoulder jerks him back to the present. Levi is staring at him with wide, concerned eyes. Mike shakes his head, trying to assuage his concerns, and leans in closer to the man again. He blocks the memories surfacing from the smell of him and grabs a fistful of hair and rough burlap so he can pull his head back. Then he leans back slightly and nods to Levi.

There is nothing gentle, nothing forgiving, about the way Levi’s fist connects with the right side of the captive’s face. Mike is fairly certain that at least some of that force is a result of what Eren had told them, revenge for messing with his mind. It doesn’t cost the man any teeth, but it does split his lip and break his nose if the sound and blood are anything to go by. Blood falls in little rivulets from the new injuries, down to his clothes and staining through the hood.

“Ready to talk yet, Commander?”

“I thought you didn’t know my rank.”

It’s a quip, not an answer, but it’s still confirmation enough and at least it’s some kind of response. And by the way he stiffens, then relaxes again, it wasn’t intentional.

“So ‘e does speak. I know who y’are, Commander Erwin Smith of the Royal Guard. Yer a very important man.”

He snorts indignantly, but doesn’t respond otherwise. Levi cracks his knuckles and the Commander stiffens at the sound, preparing for another hit.

“We can do this the easy way anytime, _Sir_.” He spits the word with all of his disgust, “Ye just ‘ave to answer the questions I’ve got.”

There’s a beat of silence, as if he’s considering, then, “Why don’t you take the hood off so I can see you? Might be more willing to cooperate.”

Mike leans back to stand fully, “Ah, yeah, Abou’ that actually. What was it ye were tryin’ to do to my friend, back there?”

Instantly, the Commander stiffens in the chair, confirming their suspicions. Both Mike and Levi watch him carefully waiting for an answer. Levi looks absolutely murderous. Mike is sure that if he let him, Levi would kill their captive, important information be damned. And Mike couldn’t even blame him. If he had hurt Eren… Mike shudders at the thought of what Levi would do. He can’t lose another person he cares about.

After a long time of silence, with the Commander making no indications of answering, Mike backs off a bit and nods to Levi. Before he can strike, though, Mike holds up a finger. Levi pauses, irritation written all over his features. “What?” he hisses.

“Don’ kill ‘im.”

Levi’s eyes narrow, and then his fist flies.

If anyone other than Mike were standing there, they would have thought Levi is completely disregarding the order. His hits are hard, violent, and more than once Mike hears something break. But he knows Levi, recognises his style, sees the way he’s holding back. If he had wanted him dead, he would already be dead.

Mike has to admire the lack of _any_ kind of response from the Commander. He doesn’t scream, cry out, whimper, barely even gasps with each solid hit of Levi’s fist to his flesh. Either the military does a lot more to its soldiers than Mike thought, or this man has been through his own personal hell. A flash of a teenager writhing in pain makes him lean toward the latter.

The hits stop the moment Mike raises his hand in signal. Levi is breathing just a bit harder after having put himself into every punch. Commander Smith is now slumped forward a bit in the cair, his weight pulling against his restraints. Mike can hear his wet, laboured breathing, can _smell_ the stench of blood.

“I don’ want to ‘ave to hurt ye. Just answer the questions.”

“You aren’t hu-urting me,” he says, voice strained with pain. Levi looks proud of the hitch in his voice. The words are either exceedingly stupid or prideful, because he is obviously in a lot of pain, or he’s much smarter than Mike thought.

“What d’ye mean?”

“You said,” he coughs, “You said you don’t want to have to hurt me. You aren’t. There are two of you. You haven’t laid a hand on me.”

Smart. Mike is actually pleased about that, deep down. At least he isn’t just stupidly stubborn. That could make this line of questioning impossible.

“Yer right. Don’t mean I won’t, though. What business does such a high ranking officer have on a glorified extermination squad?”

The Commander laughs sardonically before answering, “Is it really so odd for a commander to lead his troops? It builds morale, leading by example. And keeps me out from behind a desk.”

Mike leaves the answer hanging to go to the table of instruments Hanji had provided. Clearly the classic beating isn’t going to get them what they want. He’d hoped he would be able to avoid this, but the Commander isn’t giving him much choice. He glances over the collection of harshly forged implements scattered haphazardly over the table’s surface. It’s almost sickening, when he thinks about all of the things the twisted metal can do, all the pain it can cause. He doesn’t like this.

Finally, he settles on a long iron rod with a perpendicular rod welded to it’s end, twisted and ugly. He’s not sure if his plans are exactly what Hanji had intended for this particular device, but it’ll do. His fingers run over the iron, then he turns back to where Levi’s watching the Commander, “We need a fire.”

Levi spends only a fraction of a second looking completely perplexed before he nods and goes about creating a small pit, gathering precious wood to build a fire in the corner. The whole process is spent in silence, with Mike watching for any movement from their captive. There’s not much to see, Commander Smith just sits there, still slumped from Levi’s previous beating. Occasionally he coughs wetly, likely spattering blood over the inside of the hood.

Eventually, Levi indicates the fire is ready and Mike walks to the pit to place the iron in. While he waits for the metal to heat, he comes around the front of the Commander and unceremoniously rips the front of his uniform open, revealing the expanse of his chest and abdomen. The Commander shivers at the sudden feeling of air on his skin, goosepimples rising under the blond hair there, but otherwise refuses to react. He’s smart, Mike’s sure he knows what’s coming.

He’s quiet in his approach with the rod, white hot at the end, so when it sears the skin of his chest, right over his heart, he isn’t expecting it and can’t hold back his cry of pain. When Mike lifts the rod away after several seconds, a violent red blister is already forming. The Commander breathes hard through his clenched teeth and Mike can feel the glare he’s getting from behind burlap.

“I answered your question.”

“Aye, but ye lied. I don’t take too kindly to liars.”

“I didn’t lie.”

Mike regards the man sitting in the chair, now bowed back somewhat so as not to flex the freshly burned skin on his chest. He sounds… sincere. At least to some degree. But it’s not the whole truth, Mike knows that. He taps the still warm iron to the newly burned skin briefly, just for the shuddering reaction to make his point, “Aye, I suppose, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either.”

The Commander stays silent.

Levi’s eyes narrow but he takes the rod when Mike hands it off to him and replaces it in the fire. Mike returns his attention to the Commander, looking pretty pathetic with his uniform ripped open, the hood over his head, and the dried blood caked all around his head and shoulders. “Let’s try this again, hmm? Why are ye here?”

He stays silent for a long time, but Mike is a patient man. And the iron isn’t hot enough yet, anyway.

“We were sent to kill the short, marked one.”

He doesn’t offer anything more, but it’s the most truthful thing he’s said the whole time they’ve been in the little room. Levi seeths from his place near the fire, but doesn’t say anything. Mike’s lips quirk up in a little half smirk, “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

The Commander’s head raises slightly, focusing on where he thinks Mike is standing. Mike allows him to sit in silence for a few more moments before asking his next question, “And why are _you_ , the Commander, a part of this simple mission?” He stretches out the word ‘you’ for emphasis, trying to pronounce it clearly around his accent.

It’s almost a surprise when the man before him tenses and stays quiet, refusing to answer yet again. He really shouldn’t have put hope in getting an answer out of him, should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. He heaves a heavy sigh, and motions for Levi to hand over the rod.

The next searing touch of the iron against the Commander’s skin is on his abdomen, just off from center, over his lower ribs. Rather than screaming out, this time he gasps, pulling air in desperate, shallow pulls. It’s a sensitive spot, Mike can tell. He puts aside his reservations about causing this pain, remembering what he’s here for, how important this is. But the smell of burning flesh can’t be cleared from his senses so easily.

“If yer feelin’ uncooperative again, then I think it’s time we take a break. Ye can have some time to think abou’ helpin’ us out.” He backs away and leans the rod up against the wall before stepping out of the room.

It takes very little effort to find Mikasa, lent up against a wall just down the hall, waiting. “Keep an eye on ‘im. Levi and I need to talk to Hanji.” She nods and pushes off the wall to relieve Levi, who had stayed behind with the captive.

Rather than wait, Mike moves to find Hanji. It’s not hard, she’s always in one of two places, her bed or her lab. More often than not, the latter, which is where Mike finds her. He isn’t expecting to also find Eren and Armin, but it’s just as well. Eren needs to be in on this as well and Mike never denies the help of Armin’s considerable smarts.

They both look to him when he approaches, “Levi’s on his way. We need to talk.”

Hanji’s face lights up, “Yes! Armin and I have a theory.”

This is only a mild surprise to Mike. When the two most brilliant minds he’s ever come in contact with work together, they tend to come to impossible conclusions. It was what he hoped for, but didn’t count on. But this is good, maybe it would give them something to work with, some kind of leverage so he can stop the torture.

Levi opens the door to the makeshift lab moments later. “Unhelpful bastard. I wish we could just kill him, the world would be a better place without another military dog around.”

“Levi…” Eren says. At the sound of his voice, Levi’s whole body softens and relaxes. He looks over to Eren.

“It’s true.”

Eren sighs and Hanji quickly commands the attention of the room, “Now that we’re all here, Armin, should you tell them, or shall I?”

Armin glances around the room, making eye contact with everyone, lingering on Mike, “Well, based on what Eren told us, whatever the Commander can do is probably initiated through eye contact. We can’t really say much about exactly what that is without more information, but it’s probably dangerous. It also explains why he’s here in the first place. Why it didn’t affect Eren, though…” he trails off.

“Are we sure it didn’t affect him?” Levi asks, taking a seat near Eren.

Armin cringes slightly, “Um, not exactly. But we couldn’t find anything wrong. And Eren-”

“I’m fine, Levi,” Eren assures, cutting Armin off.

Mike straightens, “So what does that mean for us? What do we actually know?”

Hanji’s smile widens, “We know he can do _something_. And if I could just run some tests…”

She flips through her notes as her voice fades, absorbed in her thoughts. “What kind of tests?” Mike prompts.

Her head snaps up as she’s brought back out of her thoughts, “Well, I figured since Eren isn’t affected I cou-”

“Absolutely not.”

Everyone in the room turns to look at Levi, whose jaw is set in a hard line of unshakable determination. “Lev-”

“No. You’re not using him for your experiments. There’s no telling what it could do. It could have just been a fluke that it didn’t do anything the first time. _If_ it didn’t.”

Hanji’s openly gaping now, and Armin just looks contemplative. But Eren… Eren looks angry. “Levi!” The shout draws Levi’s attention to the younger man, fiery and passionate. “I _want_ to help! I _want_ to do this!”

Levi just stares, wide eyed and in shock. “Eren…”

“No! Don’t do that. As far as we know, I could be the only one he can’t do anything to. And I’m not willing to let anyone else try. But I can help, I know I can.”

There’s a stare off between them and the air in the room is suddenly hot and _very_ uncomfortable. Hanji, more or less immune to the uncomfortable tension, flits her eyes between Eren and Levi, waiting for a verdict on whether or not she’ll be given the go ahead to proceed. Armin glances around nervously and Mike just waits.

Finally, Levi heaves a heavy sigh in defeat, “Only if I’m there.” Hanji’s grin splits her face and she takes a breath to speak, but Levi cuts her off with a finger raised, “BUT, if I think _anything_ is going wrong it stops. No questions.”

Eren mutters something that sounds like it might be claiming he can handle himself. But no one objects.

“We have to be careful. Everyone else needs to stay out of his sight. It’ll be the four of us, only. The fewer people the better. Sorry, Armin.”

“I understand.”

They stare at one another in silence, deep in thought about what they’re going to do.

“Do ye have a plan, Hanji?”

Hanji stares at him with her manic grin, “Well, I was thinking…”

Levi scoffs as Hanji prattles on about her theories and plans. The only one that seems to be paying any real attention to her is Armin, but that isn’t unusual.

What might be hours later, their group disassembles and Mike goes to check on Jean. He finds him sharpening his little knife on the stairs to the ground floor. When he hears Mike’s approach, he looks over his shoulder at him.

“Hey, Mike. I tried to find you earlier. The soldiers, their names are Hitch and Marlow. We can trust them.”

“Yer sure?” Mike asks, sitting down a few steps up from Jean.

He nods, “Yeah. I’m sure.”

There’s something haunted in the way he stares down at his knife blade, but Mike doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to. He trusts Jean as much as he trusts all of their little group. And they’ve been through hell more times than any of them care to remember. After a considerable length of sitting together in quiet, Mike claps a big hand on his shoulder, “I think Armin might like some help with dinner.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go ask.” He gets up and starts climbing the stairs back toward their encampment. But then he pauses and turns back, “And, Mike?”

“Aye?”

“Thank you.”

Before Mike has the chance to respond, he’s gone. Mike sighs and leans back into the stairs for a moment. Most of these people are just kids. They just need somewhere to belong. They don’t need to be caught up in a big political uprising, they need a family, people who care about them. So Mike tries to offer that as well as he can. Tries to be a father, brother, whatever they need.

But if he can push toward a world where he isn’t necessary, where they can be happy, then he’ll push with all of his strength. And that’s why they’re here, balls deep into a resistance movement against a tyrant king. He just wants them to know happiness.

He loses himself in his internal musings until he hears soft footsteps at the top of the stairs. He turns his head to find Levi looming at the doorway above him. “Hanji is going to get us all killed, one of these days.”

Mike smirks up at him, recognising the quip as his way of offering himself, of telling him he’s here to talk, of asking if he’s alright. “Aye, but that’s better than other options.”

Levi huffs in agreement while Mike climbs up to meet him. Once they’re on a similar level (with Levi staring upwards even though Mike is still standing several steps below him), Levi’s eyes narrow and his jaw clenches, going entirely serious, “I don’t like this.”

“Nor do I. But what choice do we have? We need ‘im.”

They walk together in companionable silence, moving through the maze of rooms until they make it to where Mike has set up his personal space; a room acting as his office, bedroom, and private space all together. They sit down in the rickety wooden chairs set around a makeshift desk and there’s a long moment in which Levi appears to want to say something, but keeps his mouth shut. A shaggy yellow dog pads over from where it was laying in the corner and shoves its face into Mike’s lap and he strokes its head absently while Levi continues to stare at him.

Then, finally, “I’m… concerned.”

Mike cocks his head, “Abou’ Eren?”

Levi regards him carefully, like he’s trying to find something, “Yes.” The word is drawn out some, elongated like it’s not the only thing he means to say, but he doesn’t continue.

“He’ll be fine. He’s a strong kid.”

His response is a grunt of acknowledgement and another appraising look. It takes a long moment, long after Mike has moved his attention on to other matters, for Levi to speak again, “Are you alright?”

Mike’s head shoots back to Levi, locking eyes with him, “Hmm? Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes narrow, “This…” he makes a noncommittal gesture, “is a lot more than we’ve ever done before. I just… I’ve got Eren and even you, but who do you talk to?”

Ah, so this is what he was trying to get at. Mike relaxes into his chair, features softening. Levi’s cold, hard, and offputting to most people, but really, he just cares too much. Cares so much that losing people has made him build up this mask. But to people lucky enough to get close to him, he opens up and shows his true colours. Mike counts himself very privileged to be among those he considers friends.

Mike takes a breath, “I’ll be alright. I don’ like this. At all. But it’s necessary. We have to keep fightin’. And if this is the only way… well, I’m willing to face it.”

“Yeah, me too.” Mike offers a small smile, just an upturn of his lips, and Levi returns the gesture.

“So…” Mike starts, “How are… things?” His smile widens.

Levi narrows his eyes until they’re nearly slits, “I am not talking about _things_ with Eren with you.”

“Oh, don’t imply that yer anything other than a permanent virgin. I just wanted to make sure everything is alright between ye. Ye know I only care.”

“Tch, yeah, yeah. It’s… good. I just… I don’t want him involved. I don’t…”

“Ye don’ want ‘im to see what we’ve done.”

Levi’s eyes widen then lower to stare at the grain of the desk, “Yeah…”

“If any other one person in this whole world is goin’ to understand why we did what we did, and continue to do, it’s Eren. Don’t worry yerself too hard.”

He hums and they lapse into contemplative silence, both lost in their own thoughts. After a long while, Levi stands, “I’m going to go see if they managed to make anything edible. You should eat, too.”

“Mmm, not hungry. I’m just goin’ to turn in. Make sure ye get some rest, too, Levi. Tomorrow’s goin’ to be a big day.”

Levi watches him with something approaching a calculating gaze, no doubt debating whether or not it’s worth it to argue. Eventually, though, he just turns and leaves the room, leaving Mike alone.

He’s just about to lay down for the night when three sharp, loud knocks come from the other side of his door. “Come in.”

The door flies open and Mikasa blurs in, “You can’t let him near him! It’s too dangerous!”

Mike really should have expected this at some point or another. Though he _had_ been hoping she wouldn’t find out until it was far too late. “Mikasa, calm down.”

“How can I calm down when you’re going to let Eren be a rat for Hanji’s experiments!”

He heaves a heavy sigh then puts up his most understanding expression he can muster. He’s getting drained from the days events. “Have ye talked to _Eren_ abou’ this?”

“He’s being stubborn.”

“Mikasa,” Mike places a hand on her shoulder and she looks up at him, “I _know_ you care about him, we all do, but we don’ have many options. We need to know what we’re up against.”

She tears away from him, “There has to be another way, something else we can do!”

“I’m open to yer suggestions, lass. But unless ye manage to come up with something Armin _and_ Hanji haven’t thought of, I really don’ think we’ve got any other way to do this.”

Mike watches her as she wracks her brain, visibly attempting to come up with any way she can keep Eren from putting himself in danger. After some time, she slumps in defeat. “I wouldn’t send ‘im in there if I thought there was another way. We’ll take every precaution and Levi’ll be in there to keep an eye on ‘im. Trust us, Mikasa.”

Her jaw clenches, “I do.” It’s an important thing, how quickly she says it, without any hesitation at all.

“We’ll be careful, he’ll be alright. Go get some sleep.”

She nods, still looking upset at the circumstances, but accepting it as well as she can. And then she’s gone.

Mike lays down on his collection of dirty blankets for the night, letting the dog curl up into his side and thinking of all of the people he’s responsible for and all the ways the next day could go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you enjoyed reading Mike's interactions with everyone as much as I enjoyed writing them. He's grown a really close bond to the people he feels responsible for and I wanted to make that clear in this chapter. ALSO, the dog as of now doesn't have a name, so if you have suggestions, I'm all ears.
> 
> Comments, kudos, ect. MUCH appreciated.


	4. See Who I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU ALL DESERVE A MILLION APOLOGIES FOR HOW LONG THIS HAS TAKEN FOR ME TO UPDATE! It has been a month. And I have plenty of excuses, but mostly it just comes down to I didn't know what to write. I had the worst case of block and Erwin just wasn't speaking to me. Which is why this chapter is soooo short. BUT I swear the next chapter will be longer and we'll start getting into some important erumike interaction. So I hope you all forgive me and haven't dropped this story yet. There's so much more to tell.
> 
> All of the thanks in the world to [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) for reading, editing, and being an all around amazing person. If you haven't read their stuff yet, they're Gootbuttheichou here and I very highly recommend it.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).

Erwin is jolted to awareness for the umpeenth time as a point of cool metal pokes at the still raw burns on his chest. His hiss in response is less from pain and more from the surprise of it, from the desperate need to just stop. To rest. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting in the chair, almost alone, being prodded any time his head lolls even slightly. He hadn’t been allowed to sleep. And considering how exhausted he feels, he guesses it’s been hours since they last asked him a question.

His guard has changed a few times since then. Right now, the person wielding the iron prodding him awake every few minutes is gentler than the last. The bite of the metal is no less than any of the others that have shared the room with him, but it’s quicker. Almost tentative. Not that it really does anything to help Erwin rest, just doesn’t hurt quite as badly.

He feels another prod just as his head starts to loll forward once more. He jerks back again, sitting straight. A cough bubbles up weakly from his throat but gets stuck halfway out when the door to the room bangs open and makes him flinch.

“Go get some food.” The accented voice, the owner of which had burned the marks into his skin, had told him he didn’t want to hurt him right before shoving heated iron to his chest, speaks with some unheard softness. Erwin hates him.

“Where do you want me?” That voice is new. Low, but younger. It has the slightest tremor to it, like he’s nervous about something.

“Pull that chair up over here. And _tell me_ if something feels wrong.” Ah, that voice he knows from before as well. The one with the heavy hand. Erwin has no illusions that he would be dead had the man loosened his control for a moment.

There’s a pause and then the younger voice replies, “I’ll be fine.”

Then Erwin hears footsteps, softer than the others, and then a new voice, higher and feminine, “So this is the famed Commander Erwin Smith? I’m so excited to meet you! Though you might be a little less excited to meet me, I suppose. Anyway, I appreciate your participation in my experiment!” The voice is hurried and it’s like a wind storm. The only thing that he manages to get from the line of speech is the word experiment. What sort of experiment the hyperactive woman might be referring to, Erwin has no idea.

The accented man, probably the leader from how he speaks to everyone else, addresses the woman, “Stand back. Don’ want ye gettin’ hurt.”

She whimpers, _actually whimpers_ , before Erwin can hear her footsteps move to somewhere behind him. The next several moments are a flurry of quiet movement. Erwin can hear a chair being moved, footsteps walking around, other sounds of things being moved or shuffling people. Huffs of irritation and breathing. All of the sounds seems to meld together into some kind of amalgamation of confusion that doesn’t bring Erwin any closer to understanding what is about to happen.

Then the leader speaks, “Ready?”

Erwin is mostly sure that he’s not the one being addressed, but tries to turn to the voice anyway. Except he meets resistance in a hand at the side of his head, keeping him facing forward. Then the hood, caked with dried blood and sticking to the wounds on his face, is moved. It scratches at the lacerations, pulls at his broken nose, and yanks open scabs where it had been stuck. And then, _finally_ , he can see again.

His eyes sweep the area in front of him. The room looks just like the rest of the building he and his squad had gone into at the beginning of the mission: dirty floors, drab and peeling walls, no furnishings. But in front of him is a chair with a man seated in it. The same green eyed man he’d tried to kill. _Time for a rematch._

It’s so natural to him now, so ingrained in his psyche, the way he clears his mind, rids it of any distractions. He completely forgets that there are supposed to be other people in the room, that his head is being held forward, and he focuses in on the man in front of him. His mind reaches out and it’s almost like he can see the way it creeps forward, like a mist that moves too fast to comprehend, but too slow to see. The tendrils of his mind reach into the man’s and then he pushes his power, directs it to hurt, to kill.

But nothing happens.

For the second time, his only response is a furrowed brow and a cocked head.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.” The woman's voice from before comes from behind him and the man before him looks to where Erwin assumes she is.

“It’s like a tickle. Almost like something is petting my brain.” He grimaces, “Feels weird.”

“Does it hurt?” This time it’s the one who broke his nose.

The green eyed man shakes his head, hair flopping over his forehead. “Just feels weird.”

Curious, Erwin waits for the man to look back to him. Despite knowing it is exactly what they want, he wants to know, too. He’s never come across someone unaffected by his power before. But he can’t give them too much, can’t reveal that he doesn’t need the eye contact anymore. He can still keep some secrets.

When the man does return his gaze, Erwin tries again, releases his power, sends killing force into it.

“I think he tried again. Felt… Hard.” He quickly glances over Erwin’s shoulder, “It doesn’t hurt! Just, feels different. And it only lasted a couple seconds.”

Someone hums and the direction leads Erwin to guess it’s the woman by where the sound comes from. It’s odd, the sensation of being talked about even though he’s sitting right there in the room. But it’s not like he’s offering any input. And he can’t really blame them for wanting to know what he is. But not even he knows the real answer to that. All he really knows is he’s not human. A hired gun, a monster.

“Don’t look at him for a minute?” the woman asks, and the man in front of him turns away to stare at the wall. “What do you feel now.”

“Same thing, tickling. It’s getting kind of annoying, actually.” _Good_ , Erwin thinks. He deserves the discomfort. But something isn’t right, based on the way the man’s face twists in understanding and looks wide-eyed over Erwin’s shoulder again. “But that means-”

Erwin hears the woman move behind him, “Yes! This is exciting indeed.”

He has a bad feeling about this. And the feeling intensifies when the burlap hood comes back down over his face.

“Just as I thought…”

Erwin breaks his connection with the man as soon as he hears the voice trail off, suddenly very concerned about what they may have just figured out.

A heavy sigh, “It’s gone.”

“Mmm, thought so. Commander! I have a question for you.”

He can practically feel her excitement coming off in waves when he hears her approach him. Instinctively, he leans away from where he thinks she is, sensing her invasion of his personal space.

Before she can speak again, though, the leader does, right in his ear, “I’d answer ‘er, Commander. I’ve still got that fire goin’.”

The crackle of the flame behind him reminds him of the truth of the words and he shudders at the memory of the searing metal against his skin.

“Anywho, I was just wondering, what exactly is it you were trying to do? What was your goal while you were in his mind?”

He expected they’d have at least figured out that he was entering his mind, so the revelation doesn’t come as a surprise. Her question isn’t really even much of a surprise either. It a reasonable question, seeing as his intentions hadn’t been made clear with the results. And some combination of desperately wanting to avoid more of his flesh burning, hoping she’d tell him what they deduced about his abilities, and exhaustion and lack of sleep drives him to answer truthfully.

“Kill.”

He hears a _snarl_ and then some shuffling and heated whispers he can’t make out. Then there are footsteps and a heavy silence falls over the room. But the barely audible breathing tells him he’s not alone.

It’s a long time before he speaks, “I don’ much appreciate yer tryin’ to kill my friends.”

Erwin smirks under the hood, “Never expected you to. But I have a mission and if you’re offering the opportunity, I may as well take it.”

The man hums, and Erwin could be wrong, but he thinks it sounds almost like there’s a twinge of respect in the sound. Or at least understanding. And that tiny sliver of hope spurs him forward to ask, “Seems like you plan on keeping me for a while, any chance I can get a name? At least then I have someone to curse next time you try to torture information out of me.” The last part is a sardonic mutter, halfway joking and delirious from lack of sleep.

He can hear the way his captor stifles a chuckle. But then he sobers before he speaks again, “I’m not one to do favours for people who try to kill my friends.” He’s quiet for a long time and Erwin gets the sense that it’s contemplative, and not angry. “Have ye ever tried to do anythin’ other than kill?”

Erwin’s eyes widen in shock and, for once, he’s glad for the hood hiding his expression. He certainly didn’t expect that question. His whole body goes rigid while his brain works the idea over in his head, thinks about all the times he’s been trained in his power, how many times he’s used it to destroy a life.

How not even once did the thought ever cross his mind that it could possibly be used for anything else.

It’s out before he can reel it back in, mind too focused on the implications of the question to stop himself from answering.

“No.”

Somewhere, at the edge of his awareness, he registers the sound of movement. “Maybe ye should.”

Footsteps make their way across the floor toward where the door is. He’s still thinking about what else his curse could possibly be used for, and whether it would be destruction or if there was the barest of silver linings to it, and he almost misses when his captor speaks as the door opens.

“Mike.” Erwin’s head turns to the sound and the man chuckles, “So ye can curse my name.”

Before he can respond, the man’s footsteps leave and for the first time since they came in to hurt him, he’s alone.

\--

Erwin wakes with a start, a persistent soreness in his neck and wrists and chest and… really everywhere. Everything hurts, but his mind feels a bit better, his eyes a little less burning. He feels just the slightest bit sharper. Sleep has done him well. Well enough considering his present situation at least.

“He’s awake.”

The leader—Mike, he said his name is—is there. And at least one more, based on the way he addressed someone that isn’t Erwin. And when there’s shuffling to his right, he knows there’s someone else.

“Commander?” A small, high voice asks tentatively. It’s weird, there’s no contempt, no condescension, in the tone.

Erwin doesn’t answer, doesn’t test his voice, but he does turn toward his right where the voice is coming from. It’s the most respect he’s offering, considering he was called by rank with some tinge of respect. He feels it’s warranted to offer some in return.

“Um, I just had one question.” A pause, and Erwin would guess the speaker is looking toward Mike. “Do you- What do you feel? When you try to- to kill with your mind?”

Somehow, these people know all of the wrong questions to ask. The ones that make him think about the things he’d just accepted. Make him question things he’s held as infallible law for as long as he can remember. His mind abilities had always been this untouchable, abstract concept that he just accepted as an absolute, horrible truth. There has never been any figuring it out, any secrets to uncover. It just is.

And then this strange group of treasonous rebels starts flipping all of that on it’s head, one resists the power, they ask him strange questions, and he doesn’t know what to do or how to respond. So he deflects.

“Until yesterday, I was just a tool to be used. I don’t see why my feelings should start to matter now.” That might have been more revealing that he intended, but it’s not like they really care about his mental state. All they probably care about is how they can use him for their own means. Always a tool. Never a person.

There’s a shuffling sound and Erwin allows himself a moment of pride while he lets himself imagine he made his interrogator uncomfortable with the answer. Then there’s a soft mutter, something Erwin can’t make out but he thinks he picks out something that sounds like ‘curious.’ After a few moments, a chair slides on the ground and there are footsteps. The door opens and when it closes again a quiet falls over the room. But he can hear the breathing of one other person.

“Ye aren’t a tool. If you help us, answer us, or not, it’s because ye choose to. We don’ use people.”

He doesn’t even give Erwin a chance to really respond before he hears him move off and leave the room, draping the room in an uncomfortable silence.

The last place Erwin ever expected to be treated like an actual human being was here, tied to a chair, blinded by a rough burlap hood sticking painfully to wounds caused by his captors, chest still raw and painful from his recent branding. He’s barely gotten sleep, he’s hurt and sore, and yet he has just been told that he isn’t a tool, that he is a person. Even depraved and embarrassed as he is sitting in this room for however long he’s been here.

He’s not ready for the weird tightness he feels. He wants to attribute it to the way his arms are going numb from the way they’re tied, but it spreads, warms him, and almost makes him forget all of the aches and pains in his body.

But then he flexes his chest and hisses at the way the raw skin pulls at the burns there and he remembers that these people hurt him for information. They don’t see him as a person. Just a well for information, and a freak now, with his abilities. A science experiment to be understood and done away with.

He feels better with the return of his seething hatred, if not a bit empty from the absence of the warm bubble of being understood. Eventually, uncomfortable sleep takes him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize a billion times over for the late late update and for how short it is. I hope it was still enjoyable.


	5. Where is the Edge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again I took forever on this chapter. My only viable excuse is I was hard at work on AI (which is up and posted now and I'm still amazed by the positive responses) but now that that's done, it's just this and the nsfw challenge. So maybe updates will be quicker? Although I'm also getting to the point in the story that's a bit muddy in my head right now, so I make no promises and apologise for any delays.
> 
> All of the thanks in the world to [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) for telling me my really dumb idea for this chapter wasn't really dumb and approving it once I wrote it. If you haven't read their stuff yet, they're Gootbuttheichou here and I very highly recommend it.

Mike is woken to the sound of snuffling and a cold nose against his face. His eyes crack open into slits and, as he turns his head, a wet tongue licks up his cheek.

“‘M up, I’m up, ye mangy mutt! Ge’ off me.” He offers a brief scratch behind the ears to the dog before pushing him away so he can rub at his tired eyes and sit up. The dog bounds around a bit before coming back to where he’s sitting to lay his head on Mike’s lap. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ye some food.”

He throws on the same clothes he’s been wearing for the last several days before opening his door. The dog charges out ahead toward the makeshift kitchen while Mike follows behind slowly. He’s not surprised to find no one else moving around as he makes his way through the maze of halls in the building. While some of his band of misfits are early risers, none of them beat the dog’s growling stomach.

When he reaches the kitchen, the dog is sitting with contained energy right in front of the little bowl on the floor, whole body wiggling in anticipation. Mike goes to the cabinets to find some of the scraps they have saved up from previous meals to dump into the dish. Once the animal is happily gorging itself, he gets himself a piece of stale bread and sits down at the modest table.

His mind wanders to the events of the past several weeks. From the attack they were lucky enough to cut off before it got out of hand, to the two new members they’ve gained, and to the prisoner they still have tied to a chair a few rooms away from where he’s sitting.

Commander Erwin Smith is an interesting man. He certainly doesn’t give up much, and nothing easily. But there’s something in the way he speaks, in what information he _does_ give them, after extensive prodding, that hints at much deeper things going on in his head. The man is hard and steadfast in his duty, clearly very dedicated to his position and what he protects. But he doesn’t speak lovingly about it. It’s a cold kind of reverence. Almost like he doesn’t enjoy it, but rather is obligated to it.

It makes Mike wonder if his resolve isn’t quite as strong as it appears.

A little scuffle of feet against aged and dirty tile brings Mike out of his head and alerts him to the presence of another person in the room. He’s somewhat surprised to find one of the defectors, Marlow, coming to join him.

“Morning,” the man offers, going to get something to drink and petting the dog absently as it rushes to greet him.

“Mornin’,” Mike gives back, finally taking a bite from the piece of bread he had gotten for himself. It’s hard and not very good, but he’d prefer to leave the better food for the rest of them.

Marlow joins Mike at the table when he’s gotten himself a cup of water but keeps to himself. Mike lets the silence sit between them for a while until a thought crosses his mind.

“Why did ye surrender?”

Marlow looks up with wide eyes. He and Mike haven’t really said much of anything to one another, not ever really having reason to. “I-” he looks down at his cup, “The government is corrupt. I figured I could try to do something about it if I worked my way up in the Royal Guard, became someone important. You guys found a way to do it faster.”

Mike regards him carefully for a moment, then nods his head in acknowledgement. He’s already aware that the girl was more interested in saving her own life, at least at first. It’s good to know that at least one of them has true intentions that align with theirs. But the conversation seems over, so Mike returns to chewing on his meager breakfast.

“He’s the same, you know.”

Marlow’s voice startles Mike to looking back over to him. He doesn’t say anything, but looks at the younger man expectantly to prompt him to continue.

“Commander Smith? He thinks it’s corrupt, too. He was there when the old King fell. He hates this King. But he’s duty bound and honour bound. Always took all those oaths more seriously than anyone else. He’s a good man.”

He doesn’t have a response for him. But rather, this confirms his thoughts that have been circling his head. And it allows for one he’d buried deep to resurface again. An idea to spark. A plan to form.

Mike stands, popping the last of the bread in his mouth. “Get some food, Marlow.”

He can feel the younger man’s eyes on his back as he leaves the room. Still, he doesn’t explain himself.

He has some convincing to do.

First, he finds Hanji, who he expects will be the easiest to convince to go along with him. Mostly because she’ll turn it into a scientific opportunity. He finds her, as expected, in her lab slaving over some questionable solution.

“Hanji, I have an idea.”

She makes a noise as her head hits something when she tries to look over at him, “Idea?” She stands and peels off her gloves, _how does she even get those?_ and wipes her hands on her front. “What’ve ya got?”

“All we know about the Commander’s ability is that it works through eye contact and ‘e tries to kill with it. And Eren’s immune. Correct so far?”

Hanji cocks her head, “That about sums it up. I can take some educated guesses, but that’s all we know for sure.”

“Any theories on how it works?”

“Without seeing it in action, no, not really. And I’m not about to sacrifice anyone just to see how it works. Even I’m not that crazy.”

Mike offers her a soft smile, “No. But I think he’ll try to do something different with it.”

Her eyes widen and she looks suddenly much more interested in what he has to say, “How?”

This is where it would get difficult. “I brought up the idea to ‘im after that first session with Eren. He hasn’t tried before, but I think I planted something that got ‘im thinkin’. And I think if I offer myself as the test subject…”

As he expected, Hanji’s face screws up into one of concern, “Mike… I don’t know about that. We know Eren is immune, but he could kill you. He probably _will_ kill you.”

“I don’ think ‘e will, Hanji. Something tells me he doesn’ really want to hurt us.”

Hanji still doesn’t look convinced, and Mike thinks this bodes poorly for his next venture. “I don’t like this at all.”

"I know. But this is an opportunity for us to learn more about how 'e works. Anyway," Mike leans back into one of the counters in the lab, careful not to touch anything, "I still have to convince Levi." 

She blows out a hard breath, “If you can talk him into agreeing, then I guess I’m on board.”

“Thank ye, Hanji.”

He leaves without another word as she watches him with concern.

\--

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me!”

Eren puts his hand on Levi’s shoulder, a halfhearted attempt to hold him back while he seethes with his own disagreement, “I’m with Levi, Mike. You can’t do that.”

“I need ye to understand. We are out of options. He isn’t being all too forthcoming and I don’ even think _he_ knows how it all works.”

Levi looks absolutely irate, “And that’s supposed to make us feel better? Mike, he will _kill you_.”

Mike’s laugh holds no humour in it, “No. I don’ think ‘e will.”

“You don’t _think_? Forgive me, but that’s not much to ease my doubts. We have no guarantee of what he will do.” Levi won’t say what he really wants to, won’t tell Mike that he’s worried about his life. But it’s clear enough in how hard he fights him. Obvious in the tension in his jaw and the tight fists at his side.

“Levi.” Levi’s narrow, angry eyes bore into Mike’s much calmer face. “I know what I’m doing here. I _will_ do it. You have to trust me.”

For a moment, Levi’s rage falters, but then it’s right back again. “Goddamn it, Mike. You can’t manipulate me like that. You know I trust you. But this isn’t about trusting _you_ , it’s trusting _him_. And I don’t.”

There is a long moment of silence in which the three men in the room just stare at one another. Or rather, Mike and Levi stare at each other with almost palpable electricity between them. Eren’s gaze flicks between them like he’s waiting for the explosion. His own tension is it’s own separate force, smoldering low and contained, holding out to see what’s going to happen.

And then Mike breaks it all.

“I do.”

Both Levi and Eren can do nothing more than gape openly at him.

Levi recovers first, “What the _fuck_?”

“He’s tried to kill all of us, and wouldn’t hesitate to try again if we let him. How-”

Mike cuts Eren off, “We can use ‘im. And I think if I show ‘im I’m willin’ to trust ‘im, he’ll be more willing to help us. He’s not against us, not really.”

Eren opens his mouth to say something again, but Levi’s hand goes up to cover his, where it is still perched on his shoulder. Eren looks over to him to see Levi still staring into Mike, but his expression is different. Contemplative. Full of unyielding trust.

They don’t even need words. Levi just gives a tiny little nod, full of understanding, trust, but also concern. Still, it’s enough. Mike tilts the corners of his mouth up slightly and returns the nod, “Thank ye. I’ll want ye to be there. If it makes ye feel any better, he’s all yers if ‘e does kill me.”

“I’ll make sure he suffers.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Mike chuckles. But his humour is short lived as he turns toward the door, “Tonight.”

The room goes solemn again and Mike takes his leave.

\--

Mike gets to the room before anyone else, as is his intention.

Erwin Smith looks pathetic. Still tied with his arms behind the back of the chair. Still with a hood covering his head. Still littered in half healed wounds. The burns look better now. They looked as if they might have been infected at one point, but they look much improved now. Mike winces as he recalls the smell of burning flesh and how it felt to push the metal into his skin.

His head is down and body lax in sleep when Mike walks in, but there are only a few moments before his muscles tense and his fingers twitch as he awakens. He keeps his breathing even, probably pretending to stay asleep, but Mike already knows.

“I know yer awake.”

Smith keeps up his act for another several minutes, but eventually lets out a long breath and picks his head up. His voice cracks as he spits out, “What do you want with me this time?”

Mike smirks, “I ‘ave a proposition for ye.”

Erwin scoffs, but doesn’t reply. Not unusual.

“I think ye should try doing something different with this ability of yours.”

Mike watches him carefully, catches the way his muscles tense and his head raises just a bit higher, as if he’s perking up. He has his attention.

“Why would I want to do that?”

 _Good_ , Mike thinks, _he’s not immediately dismissing the idea_. Mike pulls up a chair so he can sit in front of him and face him, “Because I think ye want to know if ye can.” When Erwin doesn’t say anything, Mike continues, “And because I’m going to let ye try it on me.”

This gets Mike the reaction he’d been expecting. Pure, unadulterated shock. Erwin’s whole body tenses and Mike is sure his eyes are wide and staring, even though he’s blinded. He smirks even though the effect is lost, since no one is there to see.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll just kill you?”

“The fact that yer askin’ that tells me ye won’t. But, truth be told, I never thought ye would. I’ve got a certain amount of respect for ye. I don’ think yer a bad person.”

Mike wonders if he thinks he’s lying. Not that it matters much, because Mike is still going to do this. He’s still going to offer himself. He’s still risking his life for this chance.

“Could have fooled me. Torture doesn’t speak to respect.”

It’s just on the edge of a joke. And Mike finds himself smiling. He likes this man, despite everything. He hopes this works. “We all do wha’ we ‘ave to in order to survive.”

He gets a sardonic laugh in reply.

Before either of them have the chance to continue their banter, the door opens and Mike turns to watch Levi and Hanji walk in. “Ah good, everyone’s here. Commander Smith, I’d like to introduce ye to my friends, Levi and Hanji. They’ll be observing our little experiment; all ye have to do is attempt to do anythin’ other than kill me. And rest assured, while I may trust ye, they certainly do not.”

Levi lets out a “tch” at that, but doesn’t say anything. They settle against the far wall behind Erwin, Levi leant up against it with his arms crossed looking very perturbed. Hanji stands open and curious, less angry, but she can’t hide her underlying anxiety. She’s worried about him.

Mike’s almost surprised when Erwin answers, “They’re smart, then.”

“Mike, I swear-” Levi’s voice cuts off when Mike holds up a hand.

“It’s alright, Levi. I trust ‘im.” His last words aren’t for Levi, but for Erwin. Even still, he misses the way Erwin’s finger twitches because it’s tied behind his back and the hood still covers the way the corners of his mouth pull and his eyes flash with surprise.

Levi’s still fuming in the back of the room, so Mike turns to Hanji, “Would you do the honours for us?”

Hanji looks at him and draws a deep breath. She’s covering her anxiety with the thrill of the experiment, and Mike lets her. She takes a few steps forward until she’s right behind Erwin, but still waits for Mike’s nod before lifting the hood from Erwin’s head.

There’s a moment that feels like it drags on forever in which nothing happens. The two men simply stare. Mike takes in Erwin’s dirty hair, matted down by the hood and sweat, sees his half-healed injuries from when Levi wailed on him several weeks back. Meets his stunningly blue eyes, still vibrant and full of fight, with not a hint of how exhausted he must be after weeks of sitting in this chair.

And then Mike feels something. For a split second, it’s lovely. It’s like a caress in his mind, something soft and comforting. But it’s gone quickly, replaced with an excruciating headache. Mike squints and grits his teeth, but keeps eye contact with Erwin. He can see the _challenge_ light up there. Erwin is daring him, pushing him, but he’s not dead.

Mike flicks his eyes over to Hanji. She takes the bait, “What was your intention just then?”

Suddenly, Mike’s pain is gone, replaced with the same caressing feeling from before. This time it lasts long enough that he can enjoy it. Soft is how he thought of it before, but that’s not quite right. Comfortable, yes, but firm—not soft. It’s not light. It’s present and there, solid and strong. It reflects the man in front of him quite well, he thinks.

“A less severe, less lethal version of what I usually do.”

Mike’s eyes flick back to Erwin to find him smirking. It’s a game to him, a challenge to see how far he can take it. But there’s also a glimmer of glee in his eyes that hints toward the fact that he realises he can do more than just kill with this ability of his. Mike can almost see underlying _joy_ there. Something he’s sure Erwin Smith has not felt in a very very long time.

Levi sneers, “I wish I could kill you, you fucking asshole.”

“Levi. Be nice.”

His arms uncross and he stands up straight, but he doesn’t come any closer, “Why should I be nice when this _dick_ just tried to maim you? Isn’t the idea to do something _other_ than try to kill us?”

Erwin stares straight into Mike’s eyes as he responds with a smile, “Why don’t you come over and I’ll give you a taste, hmm?”

Mike grins at the comment. He enjoys the dark banter, can tell it’s not a real threat, even as Levi sneers at it. Not that he’d be able to make good on it if it were. “He’s got a point, Commander. The idea is to try somethin' _different_.”

Erwin glares for only a moment before he seems to have a sudden idea. He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, “Alright then.”

Suddenly Mike feels a warm euphoria wash over him. He can’t stop his eyes from closing at the feeling and he squirms just slightly in his chair. Worse yet, he is utterly incapable of stopping the wrecked moan that spills unbidden from his lips. His body feels warm and flushed and his heartbeat is pounding in his chest. He feels his toes curl and can hear the way his breath pants. It a reaction he’s had in private before, but never in a room full of people, and never without _something_ to set it off.

It feels like it takes forever, but it can’t be more than about a minute before he spasms and can feel a warm dampness in his pants. For a few moments, he’s left squirming from an almost painful feeling of overstimulation. But finally, he heaves a deep shuddering breath as the overwhelming pleasure leaves and he comes down.

When he opens his eyes, Hanji and Levi are both wearing twin expressions of utter shock, mouths and eyes wide. Levi also looks a bit revolted. Erwin, though. He just looks pleased.

Hanji recovers first, spawning a wide smile and she finally looks like she might be enjoying herself. “What did you _do_?” she asks excitedly, practically bouncing on her feet and making a slow, unconscious approach toward Erwin.

“He said try something different. What’s more different from pain than pleasure?”

Mike smirks, “I’d ‘ave to say there’re some similarities, to be sure.”

“Ok this is disgusting. I’m leaving. I’ll be outside if you need me.” Mike watches Levi go with a raised eyebrow, but doesn’t fault him. He imagines it’s got to be strange watching your best friend orgasm from seemingly nothing. Especially if the thought of sex is the opposite of interesting to you.

Hanji, on the other hand, looks fascinated. “Mike-”

“Absolutely not, Hanji. I know yer fascinated, but ye aren’t gettin’ anything from me. We’re done here. I’m going to clean up then I’ll stop by for any questions ye have for me. Let everyone know we’re leaving the hood off of our friend here.”

Mike barely hears Hanji’s whine about the loss of perfectly good evidence, his attention captured by the way Erwin’s eyes widen in shock. He hides the surprise quickly, but it’s too late and Mike is sure he knows it. “Awful trusting of your prisoner.”

Hanji stops whining to focus on Erwin but Mike waves her away. She shoots him a look that he doesn’t care to try to interpret before she steps out of the room. “I already told ye I trust ye.”

“Why?”

He takes a long moment to examine the man in front of him. Where before he had seen a pathetic and rugged man, ruined by the torture he himself had inflicted upon him, now he sees something a little different. He sees a man broken by his circumstance, beaten by duty and obligation. He sees a spirit that is trapped beneath rules and regulations that he feels he needs to follow.

He sees someone worth something.

A strange twinge in his chest that feels far too affectionate catches him off guard, but he dismisses it as an aftershock side effect of the ordeal he’d just endured. And it’s now he realises that he can still feel the caress of Erwin’s power in his head. “Ye didn’t kill me.”

“You said you trusted me before I was even given the chance.”

“Aye, that’s true. I guess there’s just somethin’ about ye, Erwin Smith. Somethin’ worth trusting.”

With that, he stands gingerly, legs a bit shaky, and leaves the little room and Erwin to go clean himself up.

He’s nearly all the way back to his room before he feels Erwin leave his head, and he’s left feeling a bit empty.


	6. Caged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER I AM MISERABLE TRASH I'M SORRY,,,
> 
> I hope you all haven't totally forgotten about this yet.
> 
> Thanks always to [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) for reading this trash and always supporting me when I feel miserable about it.
> 
> I hope the tiny injection of plot makes this chapter worthwhile.

It’s been hours since they left. He’s had _hours_ to look around the room he’s in, actually see where he is. But all he can do is stare at the door in front of him. He can’t shake the feeling that’s still lingering of being inside Mike’s head and he can’t stop thinking about the whole experience.

What was he _thinking_?

The whole ordeal, from start to finish, had been strange. Erwin still can’t convince himself that it wasn’t all just some weird dream. Except he isn’t wearing a hood anymore and he can still feel Mike’s mind, even long after he pulled away from it.

It was gentle, his mind. Big and warm and _smart_. It felt unlike any other mind he’s melded with. It was nice. Almost like something comfortable, a pleasant space for his mind to float.

Every time he’s used his ability, he’s had to enter the mind beforehand. It’s always a little different, each mind reflecting the person he’s exploring. Most of the time, he barely feels it. Doesn’t give himself the chance before he snuffs out the life. It’s too personal, and the last thing he wants is to feel close to the person he’s supposed to be killing.

The only other person he’s really spent a lot of time mind melded with was the green-eyed man. His mind is a storm, wild and angry and tumultuous. But it’s muted. And Erwin can’t be sure if that’s because of his apparent immunity or because that’s just how his mind is.

But Mike is so different. He’s bright and warm. Soft, but strong. With a kind paternal feel to him. Sunshine and dirt and cotton. There’s something strangely familiar about him.

Erwin would never forget the moment that he looked at his captor. Face to face, he stared into dark blue eyes hard and expectant. His face was stern and solid, with a rough beard and mustache to frame his mouth and run up his jaw. Dark blond hair hung around his face simple and straight and parted at his forehead. He never thought he’d think the man who captured and hurt him was… _beautiful_.

He had wanted to hurt him.

But not kill him. He never really wanted to kill anyone, when all was said and done. But he was under orders. And he had been infinitely curious as to whether he was capable of not killing him. So he tried to tone it down, test the trust his captor claimed to have in him. He watched the way his jaw tightened and his eyes glazed in pain. Erwin could tell it hurt, and hurt _bad_. But he never cried out, never broke eye contact. Until he flitted his gaze back to the person behind him.

He has no idea what he was thinking when they urged him to try something else, when the idea of pleasure skittered across his brain and stuck there. But once the seed was planted, he was committed. He never expected it to work. He never thought he’d be able to do anything but hurt with this curse. But he certainly did more than hurt Mike. Managed to disgust the other man, too. Levi.

Erwin’s surprised he got names for the bystanders in the room. Before then, the only name he’d been given had been Mike’s. And that had been long ago, probably weeks. He still isn’t sure how long he’s been stuck here, sitting in this chair, sightless until now. He flexes his hands, curls his fingers into fists, and feels the coarse rope bite at his raw wrists. He may have his sight back, but he’s still a caged animal, still a prisoner bound. To be used.

And yet he can’t get the feeling of being inside Mike’s head out of his mind. He can’t stop the way he always comes back to it. Can’t stop but wish he could experience it again.

But he can’t.

He can’t let himself do that. He can’t let himself feel anything for these people. There was an oath he made twenty years ago and it still means every bit as much as it did then. There may be a lot of problems in the government. The King may be a tyrant with no regard for his people. But Erwin made a promise and he will _never_ go back on that. He is devoted to his kingdom, to his promise, the honour with which he serves. It’s the most important thing in his life.

He has a mission, a goal.

The next time one of them comes in, he’s going to kill them. Kill them until they’re all gone and there’s no one left and he can go home successful.

It’s that resolution that lets him drift off to sleep.

\--

He can feel the eyes on him before he opens his. The room feels stale, but there’s a warmth to it, and he knows that it’s because of the visitor there with him. Erwin knows the feeling too well.

“Ye’d do well to learn that ye can’t fake sleepin’ with me.”

The voice prompts his eyes open and dark cobalt blue is all he sees. His mind goes blank and he just stares. He gets lost in those eyes, swimming with exhaustion, responsibility, pain. He aches to wipe away those problems.

No.

Matted, shaggy hair hits his eyes as he shakes his head clear of the thoughts. He brings his hand up to run his fingers through the grime, not getting far before it’s stopped by the tangled mess of his hair. An obnoxiously self satisfied smile on Mike’s face distracts him and makes him sneer as his hands fall to his lap.

And he stops.

His hands.

He can’t keep his eyes from blowing wide in shock, can’t keep himself from rubbing at his sore wrists that he’s just realised _hurt_.

“You untied me.” He wants it to sound like a statement, an accusation, but it comes out more like a surprised question.

Mike nods, "While I'm sure yer a capable fighter, we've already given ye yer sight back, what's one more step?"

“Who’s to say I won’t just kill you all?” Erwin bites back. He doesn’t trust these people and he especially doesn’t trust this man’s trust for him.

“Ye thought about it already. Tell me, Commander, why aren’t I dead yet?”

Erwin glares at the condescending tone, but a nagging in his head is asking the same question. Why _hasn’t_ he killed him yet? He swore he would kill whoever came through that door.

So why can’t he bring himself to?

Mike stares directly into his eyes, practically begging him to dare to kill him. To dare to betray this weird trust Erwin seems to have earned.

They stay silent, unmoving, for a long time. Just staring at each other. Erwin keeps going back and forth between wanting to just get it over with and kill the man in front of him and letting this play out. See how much he can get out of this.

Maybe he could learn something about these people and what they stand for.

Maybe he could return a hero.

Finally, Erwin speaks. “So what does this mean then? I’m free to go? Free to get as many of you as I can on my way out?”

Mike chuckles, “Hardly. Yer still our prisoner. Ye’ll be under my watch. Where I go, ye follow. And I’d really prefer it if ye didn’ try to do yer mind thing on any of my friends. But, in the end, that’ll be up to ye and them.”

“So you’re a glorified baby sitter and I’m a naughty child? Kinky.”

“Something like that,” Mike laughs. “If yer really naughty, I’ll have to put ye to bed without dinner.”

The banter is almost light. Almost playful. It makes Erwin’s chest feel tight and achey. He can’t afford to let himself get too close to these people. Can’t afford to let himself care.

He’s a soft person. Always has been. He cares too much for the people he gets close to, the people he leads. But he still has the wherewithal to get things done. He just hopes that this isn’t any different. He needs to kill these people.

After he figures out what they’re doing.

\--

Following Mike around everywhere turns out to be worse than being tortured by Mike.

The everyday operations of Mike’s little band of misfits is dreadfully boring. They aren’t planning anything, not talking in low whispers about which government official they would attack next. They just… survive. Honestly, to Erwin, the group looks more like a collection of poor people at the mercy of the terrible government just trying to make it through the day. They scrap for food, try to find clothing, Levi keeps them from letting the place get even remotely dirty. It’s just so… mundane. Normal.

These aren’t evil people.

They’re just… people. Just people trying to survive in an awful situation. People enraged by the state of things and by the tyrannical king lording over them. Erwin can sympathise. He has no love for the man, only for his kingdom and his duty to it.

Still.

These people don’t trust him. He can see it in the way no one will meet his eyes. No one will look at him properly. For good reason, to be fair. They know what he can do. Know it only takes a moment of eye contact and he could kill them before they have time to react.

The only ones that dare to look him in the eye are Mike and the green-eyed boy, Eren. The small blond boy, Armin, has come close. He looks like he wants to trust Erwin, but also like he’s calculating his every step. Analysing him. He actually reminds Erwin a lot of himself.

Not even Hitch and Marlow, people from his own team, can look him in the eye.

It’s lonely.

The sound of wood scraping against wood as a stool is pulled back brings him out of his musings. But he’s surprised when, instead of deep blue, he finds bright green eyes staring at him.

“Mike had to run out, so you’re stuck with me.” Eren stares at him with this reckless abandon and Erwin gets the impression that it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t have this weird immunity to him, he’d still stare at him the same way.

“Why do you look at me like that?”

Eren’s head cocks to the side, “Like what?”

“Like you aren’t scared of me.”

His brow furrows, “I’m not scared of you. Why would I be?”

Erwin’s eyes narrow just slightly, “Everyone else is. They don’t trust me.”

“Mike does. That’s all that matters to me.” Eren smiles, “He’s a good man, Mr. Smith. His trust isn’t easy to come by.”

Could’ve fooled Erwin. To him, it seems like Mike just threw his trust in his face for no reason whatsoever. Except maybe to manipulate him into returning the trust. Not that it worked.

“Don’t call me Mr. Smith. I don’t need to be reminded I’m being babysat by a child.”

At this, Eren pouts, “I’m not a child. I’m twenty-nine.”

This is surprising to Erwin, but he doesn’t show it. Instead, he makes a dismissive snort and looks away, around the ramshackle room that is little more than four walls, a cabinet, and the table the two men are sitting at.

The door opens and the pretty Asian woman, Mikasa, walks in. Of all the people in this group of people keeping him here, Mikasa is the one who very clearly hates him the most. Only remotely rivaled by Levi. Any time they share space, she’s shooting him venomous glares and she is unapologetic about the way she speaks about him like he’s the lowest of dirt under her boot.

“Oh, you’re here.” Her voice is low and condescending. He hates the way she speaks to him like he’s less than a person, but he can’t blame her. He is less than a person, it’s why he’s so good at his job. A pawn on the chessboard the monarchy orchestrates.

“Apparently I’m too important to let go.”

Mikasa glares dangerously, but still avoids direct eye contact. It’s unsettling. Eren turns to give her a withering glare of his own, “Mikasa, be nice.”

“Why should I be nice to someone who tried to kill us? Tried to kill you.”

Erwin sits back and watches the exchange. He’s been following Mike around this hovel they’ve built for only a few days, but he has managed to pick up on some of the relationships between members in the group. These two, Eren and Mikasa, have a close bond, that much is clear. It seems to emulate something like a sibling relationship, though they clearly aren’t siblings by blood. Not with how different the slight but strong, pretty Asian Mikasa is from the lithe, stocky, dark-skinned Eren.

They bicker for several moments, but Erwin doesn’t pay much heed to it. It’s not important and, frankly, it’s quite boring. His mind slips away to think of other things. Why the group is keeping him alive, why they’re bothering with him at all. Why he’s walking around without restraint, at least in the physical sense.

Where Mike is that he’s left Erwin with Eren.

It’s odd that his thoughts would circle back to the leader of all of this. Erwin can’t really tell why he’s so fascinated by him. There doesn’t seem to be all that much to him. He’s quiet, stoic, and strong. But Erwin has also seen him be witty and quick, kind and caring, there’s a wide spectrum of qualities he’s caught from Mike over the last couple days and he is sure that he’s only scratched the very surface.

His eyes hold a sort of hollow emptiness in them.

Erwin wonders why. He seems to have everything. A family of loyal and dear friends. A life, while hard, that is livable. Shelter over his head. So why does he look so sad?

Why does Erwin care?

\--

Mike comes back a few hours after nightfall.

He looks exhausted and haggard and doesn’t speak as he leads Erwin into his bedroom. Erwin’s been offered a pile of threadbare blankets in one corner of the small room to sleep on.

Mike stays silent, sits on one of the chairs, and continues to be generally dismissive of Erwin’s presence in the room. So, taking the hint, Erwin simply lays down and pulls one of the thin blankets over himself.

He’s just about to fall asleep when Mike’s voice cuts through the dark of the room, “What do ye know about the government’s scientific endeavours?”

Erwin props himself up on his forearms and stares into the dark, trying to see, but unable to. Still, he stares at the spot where he assumes Mike is, “There are none. Scientific exploration is outlawed, as I’m sure you’re intimately aware, seeing as you break that law on a daily basis. Beyond testing my abilities, there are none.”

The room is silent for a long time and it feels stagnant and oppressive, the air heavy with… something.

“That’s where yer wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note for those that weren't aware, I'm on a semi-hiatus from writing. My update speed and general time for writing has dramatically decreased. I'm still writing here and there, trying to keep stuff up, and obviously I did ereri week, but I have an overwhelming number of fic updates to catch up on, a new ps4 to play with, and a cosplay to finish in the next two weeks before I head off to Anime Expo (Hit me up if you'll be there, I'll be there Saturday and Sunday as Lady from Devil May Cry!). So writing updates will be slow but I PROMISE they will continue. I will finish this fic if it kills me (and it might orz).

**Author's Note:**

> Updates and general chattering (and lots of headcanons about all of my ships) about this are best found on my [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello). And, if you are so inclined, feel free to live tweet your reading experience or ask me questions.
> 
> I also have a [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).


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